


i used to parlour my tricks

by jumpfall



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpfall/pseuds/jumpfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who Mike impresses, and one person who already knew he was awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i used to parlour my tricks

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt on suitsmeme, which asked for: "Gen, het, slash, it's all good. Five times, big or small, that Mike did something in the office (or at the tailors or in Harvey's apartment in court) that made someone think more of him than just another cloned harvard douche/baby wannabe lawyer/Harvey's new pet."
> 
> Originally posted 2011/07/20 on livejournal.

**1.**

Mike hits the wall of heat a foot before the door to the building, the air conditioning declaring the area and all that lies beyond a lost cause. A layer of humidity so thick it's almost solid wraps itself around exposed skin; skimming a hand through the air experimentally feels almost like swimming, without the cooling effect of water.

On the third such day of five predicted, Mike is more than ready for some rain. It doesn't matter that he's biking to work, or that this is one of his nicest suits, or that everyone at the office is crankier when the weather is bad. Something's gotta give, because the suit is going to be ruined shortly enough as is due to the sweat stains.

The enveloping anonymity of the commute welcomes him back for another trip as he sets off. He could find his way to the office while sleeping after more than a few nights of doing just that, so he lets his attention drift to people-watching. Long hair has been swept up to keep it off the neck, jackets have been removed and folded neatly over the arm, and most have a water bottle in hand.

Street vendors take shelter beneath their wide and shady umbrellas, settling in for another long day under the beaming sun. One in particular has been doing a booming business lately – if Mike tilts his head to the side, he can just hear the familiar tunes of the ice cream truck getting closer. He stomps down the childlike impulse to jump and scream, but can't help the fond smile as it makes its way around the corner, attracting kids as it crawls through the streets.

The still growing crowd pushes and jostles their way into something resembling a line as they wait (not so) patiently to get their cool treat. At the back of the line hovers a boy, small for the age he looks to be. Mike hit his growth spurt late, too. He keeps counting his change and then glancing up at the posted prices on the sign, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. Mike immediately, painfully recognizes the action for what it is – a kid not sure he can afford the treat he desires.

Mike's decades-old bike helmet has been replaced with something that doesn't chip bits of padding when he takes it off, the staple t-shirt and jeans has been replaced with half a dozen suits, and the flip phone has been replaced with a nice new Blackberry. He likes being able to buy the things he desires. He likes ordering off the menu before he looks at the prices. He likes being able to watch the savings in his bank account climb up and up.

But before the steady pay check, before Pearson Hardman, before Harvey gave him a shot at all of this, Mike remembers having too much month left at the end of the money. With bills to pay and a Grandma to support and a pot habit to dabble in, there were always more tests to pick up, more tests to take, more pennies to pinch. He remembers being short and staying in and ducking calls.

"Hey," he says, slipping in ahead of the next kid in line and ignoring the cries of foul play from behind him.

"No butting in line," the guy working the counter informs him matter-of-factly. This is echoed by a resounding cheer from the growing mob at his back. Mike rolls his eyes and drops his voice, pulling a twenty out of his wallet. "For the kid at the back, and anyone else that can't cover it."

Arnold has been working as a vendor for five years now; he makes enough to float the kids that are a little short on change, but he appreciates the gesture all the same. When this young man had walked in, Arnold had thought he was just another suit with an ego the size of a blimp and just as full of hot air. Anybody that's anybody realizes at the top of the list of unwritten line rules is a bolded no butting.

Considering the gesture, he'll forgive it. Just this once, though.

Mike watches as the vendor's expression softens, morphing into a toothy smile. There's a small gap in his bottom row of teeth; Mike very pointedly does not inquire if it was a cavity. "You're a good sort," he says firmly, and Mike waves him off, moving back into the crowd.

-

**2.**

Louis makes it standard practice to intimidate the new recruits. It's a dog-get-owned-by-shark world out there, and it doesn't wait until the associates are comfortably nestled into their brand new cubicles. If they can't handle a little manipulation from someone essentially on their side, they aren't going to last long; Harvey knows it, Jessica knows it, the whole damn firm knows it. They can choose not to participate, content to let him play the bad guy, but if their freshly minted associates have no backbone, it's better for the firm that it comes out sooner rather than later.

Admittedly he's taken it a little far with Mike Ross, but it's just so hard to resist. The kid is good; two weeks on the job and he's catching the difference between listed assets and potential assets. Gregory wouldn't have seen that, and the task was his before he pawned it off on the newbie. If Louis pushes a little extra work Mike's way, takes him out to charm clients, he can hardly be blamed, right? He wants it done right the first time.

It doesn't help that Mike Ross should have been _his_ associate in the first place, as with that promotion. He's been here just as long as Harvey and he works just as hard. What he lacks in charm he makes up for in volume of clients, and Jessica _knows_ that.

If things were different – if Mike weren't so bright, if he'd been someone other than Harvey's associate, if Louis had gotten that promotion – Louis might have backed off at first. He doesn't give the rookies any breaks because they need to claw their way up the career ladder the way he did, fighting tooth and nail for every rung, but he can see that Harvey is riding the kid's ass enough for two of them.

This is the way things are, though, and Louis Litt does not deny that he is a petty man.

While Harvey and Mike are arguing a custody battle in Family Court this morning, Louis has a day of babysitting the other associates ahead of him. This month has seen a few high-profile cases pass through the firm, and most of the legwork is being passed down the pecking order. The rest of the associates are good, but they don't have the same eye for detail. They're not as thorough as they should be; it would take some serious examination of the fine print to find the mistakes, but they aren't Pearson Hardman because they find mediocrity acceptable.

Louis is handling the Gerald briefs himself because he doesn't trust it to anyone else under his command, but the stack of paper waiting for his attention clocks in at just over 1000 pages. He only needs to skim the legalese to ferret out any irregularities, mistakes, or loopholes, but it still makes for a long day.

He detours through the cluster of cubicles belonging to the associates on the way to the printing room, just to remind them he's keeping an eye on them. Only one of the four printers is active at the moment, but Milton hasn't gotten around to printing his case files yet; like Harvey, the partner is prone to drifting in late and staying until the sun has long since set. It irks Louis more than a little bit, but they work the same number of hours so his argument is under-developed right now.

One of the interns has sorted and clipped his pages already, efficiently placed in a box for easy carrying. Oh joy. He hauls the load back to his office, setting it down on his desk just beside the large cup of decaf – damn his doctor. It isn't until he lifts the lid and goes to dig out the beginning of the document from the pile that he notices a sticky note pasted to the top, covered in messy blue scrawl.

  
_Harvey's got me swamped the rest of the week, so let's just get this out of the way now.  
The wording of line 1130 leaves you open to outside litigation.  
\- Mike_   


  
__  


Louis almost laughs. Almost, because what is he, a nice person? Such a claim would be insulting to the image he has worked so hard to build.

He is – well, it takes a minute to identify the warmth in his thoughts and the desire to smile ever so slightly – amused, surprised, and – dare he say it, grateful.

Additionally, he is proud of Mike for having the balls to leave a note like that and for taking the initiative to gain some leverage of his own.

Guiding the associates through their lessons in the fine art of manipulation is usually an exercise in patience at best and a recipe for a strong drink at worst. Mike has been an unexpected anomaly on that front, in part due to Harvey's influence, but there's no way Harvey was involved in that little stint with Tom Keller with the two of them on the rocks as they were.

Louis doesn't know how things are going to go, but he's already getting more of an intellectual workout with Mike Ross than with the rest of the associates combined.

In the meantime, he doesn't have to look over those briefs.

Win-win.

-

**3.**

It isn't too often that Gregory gets invited to sit in on meetings with the firm's partners. He's been with Pearson Hardman just under a year, and he still feels like the low man on the totem pole. Louis Litt still has him doing grunt work. Paul's only been here six months longer, and he gets to meet with clients and tag along in court.

Privately, Gregory suspects he's only here now because Louis is having another pissing contest with Harvey, and that means having an associate shadow him in this meeting to compete with Mike Ross. If Gregory is the low man on the totem pole, Mike should be buried in the ground somewhere; instead, he's Harvey Specter's golden boy.

He threw a damn good rookie dinner, which Gregory has to respect; he'd spent his free time over the better part of two weeks putting his together and Mike managed his in half that. There's more to the package than meets the eye, or Harvey wouldn't be giving him more responsibility and Louis wouldn't keep trying to move in on him. Privately, with more than a hint of jealousy, Gregory wishes there was that much competition over him.

He takes a seat beside Louis, arranging papers and keeping an ear open to listen to the conversations as the rest of the partners file into conference room B. It's not eavesdropping if they know he's here.

Harvey and Mike are bickering when they walk in – that seems to be all they ever do.

"—buy a damn car, that bike is creasing your pants."

"—I'm keeping a change of clothes in the office, not an _iron_. Why do you care?"

"You are a _reflection of me_ , and I do not wear wrinkled clothes."

They take their seats a little further down the table, which is organized according to the chain of command. Harvey has moved closer to the head of the table now that he has become a senior partner, and as Harvey's associate, Mike sits beside him.

Jessica Pearson calls the meeting to order as everybody finishes settling in. "The firm is being sued by a former client on the grounds that the attorney handling the case was negligent. Copies of the case file are being passed out," she says, beginning to hand out folders from the stack she has in front of her.

While the partners tiptoe around the elephant in the room, Gregory flips open the folder and begins skimming; the client is claiming that the firm negotiated a low-ball deal, screwing her out of millions in settlement.

"Who was the attorney handling the case?" Harvey asks after a minute. The rest of the partners look up intently, Louis included.

Her neutral expression hardens, just for a minute, and Gregory is very glad he wasn't the one to ask the question. "Melissa Hardman," she answers after a minute. That explains a lot. Gregory's only heard whispers, as the people that know the full story don't seem inclined to share it. It floats around the office as a legend scarce on the details. "As most of you know, we lost her to a car accident far before her time."

A moment of silence follows that declaration that Gregory doesn't dare break. Harvey doesn't press further, and most of the senior partners bow their head respectfully.

"Perhaps," one of the men closest to the head of the table begins, drawing the word out carefully, "if we wish to keep her name out of it, we should settle."

The hand Jessica is resting her head on thoughtfully hits the table abruptly, her nostrils flaring in contempt for the mere idea. "I will not have her name or that of this firm tarnished."

The partner – Fred Holmes, if Gregory remembers properly – doesn't back down. "I knew her too, Jessica; I babysat that girl when she was no taller than this table."

Jessica doesn't look prepared to concede the point. Gregory glances over at Louis for some direction in what happens next. At first, watching the political by-play among the partners looked to be a source of amusement. The tension that has settled over the room is anything but.

"This is wrong."

Gregory peers down the table to find the speaker is none other than Mike Ross who, rather than paying attention to the conversation at hand, still has his head buried in the file. As the only other associate at the table, Gregory sinks down into his seat a little bit. He doesn't want to be affiliated with the crash and burn that is sure to follow getting involved in this heated conversation.

Jessica looks surprised at the interruption, Fred looks annoyed, but it's Harvey that looks thoughtful, surveying his associate with an expression of marked intrigue. He clears his throat and Mike looks up, remembering that he has an audience.

"No, look at the numbers. A portion of the settlement payout was designated for lost wages, which is taxable. Without including the amounts going towards either reimbursement of the client's medical costs or pain and suffering, and accounting for the year, the client should have paid $125,470 in taxes on that. Approximately. When he paid income tax the following year, he didn't account for that. The IRS is probably going after him for tax evasion, and he's looking for more funds."

It's Fred that pulls out the calculator to check the math on that -- weird, Gregory can't remember seeing Mike use a calculator, phone or otherwise – although the number is a moot point.

It's a particularly inspired catch. Mike couldn't have looked at that file for more than ten minutes; Gregory could have had it for ten hours, and he doesn't think he would have picked up on that. It'll be enough to tank the lawsuit before it gets off the ground, and if there's any credence to the rumours, Jessica Pearson will do the rest when it comes to preserving Melissa Hardman's reputation.

It's easy to be jealous of Mike Ross, who started off as Harvey Specter's right-hand man rather than vying for the attention of a partner as Gregory himself has done. It's not hard to see why he was picked, though.

He is suddenly and frighteningly grateful Mike's playing for their team.

-

**4.**

Harvey's not wearing his suit jacket when he comes back from lunch. It's an odd sight, to be sure – certainly the first of its kind for Mike. Still, he doesn't think it merits Donna not only verbally warning him off, but physically moving to intercept when Mike moves to enter Harvey's office.

"I was going to knock and everything," he mentions defensively, because everybody knows who really holds the power in that relationship.

She shakes her head, putting a hand on his arm and leading him further away, leaning back to make sure they haven't been seen by the occupant of the office. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she says, "You can't go in there right now."

Faced with the desire to ask _why not_ and the understanding that asking is probably not in his best interests, he's left with an eloquent, "Err…" in response.

"He took his _suit jacket_ off," she repeats slowly, like he's missing something. "This has never happened before."

"This is bad?" Mike says slowly, clueing in.

"Yes," she shakes his arm a little bit for emphasis. "They need to get the air conditioner fixed, and soon."

Enough is enough, Mike decides. He really needs Harvey's advice on how next to proceed, seeing as the hearing is scheduled for nine sharp tomorrow morning. There's only one thing to be done. He sits down with a pencil and a pad of paper, and then proceeds to Google the shit out of air conditioning schematics.

He saw the industrial-sized unit the last time he went looking for a supply closet to find more staples, and if he focuses, he can just make out the model number in his mental picture.

He runs into Rachel just as he's getting up to take a run at fixing the machine.

"Hey, Mike, I was just looking for – what are you _doing?_ "

He grins back at her. "Wanna take a field trip?"

-

This is how they end up buried knee-deep in electronic guts not two hours later. Even with the sleeves rolled up, Mike has managed to get a grease stain on his elbow. Rachel has smaller fingers than he does, so she's able to maneuver within the machine much more efficiently.

"Okay, to the bottom right of where your hand is now, there should be a small knob."

Rachel's shoulder disappears into the casing for a minute, then she nods. "Alright, I've got it."

"Tighten it, it should lock the condenser back into place."

He tilts the blueprints on their side, mentally slotting everything into place. "You do know what you're doing, right?" she asks doubtfully.

"The condenser coil needed to be cleaned on the intake side, the debris was clogging the fan." Rachel doesn't even seem to be paying attention; she backs away from the machine just as he finishes, and together they lift the cover back into place.

"Want to test it?" He says, already hopping to his feet. She follows him over to the control panel where they hover for a minute, giddy and unsure and united in their efforts to solve the problem on the third day of a broken air conditioner.

Spending the afternoon fixing an air conditioner with Mike is more fun than she's had a long time – that says something both about the hours she works and her idea of fun, but she's not ashamed of it. She's always loved trying new experiences, regardless of their origin.

"Together, on three?" She suggests. She's not about to let him get all the glory. After all, she was the one that spent an hour or so fiddling with the machine's internals.

Rachel doesn't know why she's so surprised it works, the big fan whirring back to life when they hit the power. She really shouldn't be. They can almost hear the building groan in relief from here.

The thing is, it wasn't his knowledge that had impressed her this afternoon. Sure, she had been surprised when after five minutes or so of staring at the internal mechanics and consulting his print-outs, he had seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Surprised but not impressed; she already knew he was smart. She's a smart person working with other smart people, intelligence just isn't enough anymore.

In fact, it was his ability to walk her through fixing it that had made the afternoon one to remember. He makes for a good teacher – he's patient, he communicates well, and he knows just what he's talking about.

He's a lawyer now, but he could have been a teacher, or an air conditioning repairman, as evidenced by today. The more she learns about him, the more she wants to know how he reached this point; why he chose the path he did, and what experiences he had along the way.

She's pretty sure Mike Ross has a few more surprises in him yet.

-

**5.**

By the third time Mike Ross comes in looking for suits (mainly under Harvey Specter's orders; last time, René had been privy to a phone call with the instructions, "If I don't approve, you're going back" which had affronted him a little bit – he can only do so much with so resistant a client), René is prepared. He has switched to decaf for the day. He has picked a radio station of easy listening to soothe his mood. He has stashed a bottle of scotch under the desk for day's end.

Marie intercepts him upon arrival. She warmed to Mike fairly quickly. René can't say the same for himself, but she is a good judge of character. While she gets him a drink and gets him settled in, René heads back to get started.

René doesn't trust Mike's eye for style, and Mike doesn't trust that there are significant subtleties that need to be taken into consideration in René's catalogue, so it works better for the both of them to have a small selection to choose from prepared beforehand.

The first jacket he tries on doesn't fit quite right. René frowns -- he'd thought that Mike was bulking up a little bit, actually putting some muscle on. His measurements had changed from the first to the second purchase, and he'd thought the trend would continue.

"It makes your shoulders look too broad," he decides.

"I'm aiming for broad?" Mike suggests experimentally, hesitant; his tone reads like he's dipping a toe into a body of water to test the temperature.

"Not like this," René says. "No, this won't do." He foists another jacket on him, sending him back into the change room. He is a particularly difficult customer, but they all are, and René has always liked a challenge. His services have been recommended with pride, and he is not going to let one of his best customers down.

Mike is looking for something more formal. René is still trying to figure out how to trick him into a jacket that accents the strong lines of his torso properly without his noticing; he has the height if not the muscle to make an imposing figure, if only he would choose the right suits. He gives Mike a breather to browse while he regroups with Marie and puzzles over the problem.

"Have a little more patience," she suggests. "He knows he's hopeless, but he's trying."

In perspective, Mike is no worse than many of René's customers, who fight him at every turn; René would rather have a blank slate to work with than someone who thinks they know better than he does. He doesn't tell them how to do their jobs, and he has little patience for the customers that don't afford him the same consideration.

"What is it you see in him?" he asks, watching as Mike picks out a striped jacket from a rack in the middle of the store – which is progress, at least. Even better, his choice has some potential. He doesn't mean to be rude with his question, but he finds an overall picture of the customer's personality to be more helpful in finding just the right suit.

"He always folds the shirts back up and places the jackets back on the hangers," Marie says. They've worked together long enough that René understands without words why that is significant; as his assistant, Marie is often overlooked. The customers that pass through here are often careless with the clothes that don't fit, the ones they don't purchase; they leave them in piles, or in the change room, discarding them wherever. It's the true gentlemen that take the time to hang them up properly.

That – that is the missing piece he's been looking for, that right there. He snaps his fingers pointedly, drawing Mike's attention. "Bring that here," he directs, referring to the jacket Mike's pulled off the rack and is surveying nervously.

"This isn't going to be another round of _let me do all the choosing_ , is it? Because I _like_ this one, I really do."

"It might work," René says, which is as close to a compliment as Mike's received from him yet. "That, with the--." He says over his shoulder to Marie, who has already disappeared into the back to find the shirt he is referring to.

He'd been modelling his suits for Mike a little too closely to Harvey's image, which had been his mistake. They are similar, but the differences in their personalities require a slightly different look.

Even he is surprised to see how well it turns out, how the introduction of _kind_ into René's picture of Mike changes the outcome for the better.

"I like it," Mike says, which is as close to agreement as René's reached with him yet.

"I do as well," he says, overflowing with pride in the wonderful suit this is to become, worn by someone who is shaping up to be a wonderful man. "It has potential."

-

**+1**

"Raise."

"Call."

The caretakers aren't sure who suggested poker night at the retirement home as an event, but it's shaping up to be one of their most popular in recent history. As the night comes to a close, they watch as the table in the corner whittles down from ten people down to a final two, the residents not drifting back to their rooms until long after nightfall.

Even as the chairs are straightened and the extra tables returned to storage, the remaining couple play on; one of the caretakers recognizes them as Mrs. Ross and her grandson, Mike. He must have a new job, judging by the recent appearance of suits, but he still visits every week without fail.

"I taught you this game, Grandma. How are you beating me?" They never tire of Go Fish, but a game of Texas Hold'Em every once in awhile never goes amiss.

"Mike," she says warmly. "As wonderful a person as you are, and as many things as you have taught me, I still reserve the right to take you to school once in awhile."

With that, she flips over the fifth card and wins the pot.

 


End file.
